Way Down Hadestown
by Droogs for Ultraviolence
Summary: The Shadow Man and the King of Nightmares just can't seem to get along. Short, sweet (well, not for Pitch), and to the point. Reviews are encouraged!


The murky water of New Orleans' swamplands gave the Shadow Man a distorted reflection, making him look just like his wicked, inky shadow. The moon shined, brighter than ever, on what he anticipated to be one eventful evening. Oh yes, he could feel the other's presence, see his dark spies that tried so hard to look like his own friends.

He acted like nothing was different; there was no darkness he couldn't handle, especially not in his domain.

Pitch, on the other hand, was growing increasingly furious. The Nightmare King claimed his dominion over all darkness, in all worlds—and yet, his attempts to make Facilier's shadow strangle the fool had proved fruitless. His Fearlings, his Nightmares- they were destroyed by this _sham's _minions! Never before had Pitch had to contend with a human. It was… well, a complete embarrassment, that one so easily disposed of believed he could tamper with Pitch Black.

Foolish, really; Pitch was more than ready to settle this little… discrepancy.

Hidden from the glow of the moon, beneath the canopy of trees, violet eyes met sulfur, wicked grin met pointed sneer, maniacal cackle met frenzied growl.

"Well, well, well. If it ain't the Nightmare King. Come to set me straight?" Arms crossed, Pitch examined the one that had caused all his trouble in New Orleans. The one that gave the children nightmares of their own. The one that toyed with the souls of the humans like playing cards. Had it not been for his sullied pride, the shadow master would have been impressed.

"What do you expect to gain from battling with me?"

"The conversation we're 'bout to have." Facilier gave another laugh. "You ain't got no jurisdiction here; this is_ my_ city. Y'all got the rest of the world in your hand; don't wanna pick a fight you can't win. Catch me?"

Golden eyes flashed in fury at the very notion that this ridiculous human could ever pose a threat to Pitch. "This is _my_ planet. _I_ control the darkness and the fear_. I __**am**__ the darkness_—"

"Y'all ain't nothing but a product of evil. Know my friends? They what made you. Glorified Nightmare _Prince_." The Voodoo Man glanced up, making an unspoken reference to the Man in the Moon.

And that, children, is when the King of Nightmares launched himself against the cruelest magic man in the bayou.

Pitch never had a chance. The spirits, Facilier's _friends_, had a point to make—that theirs was the only darkness to be found in the Crescent City. Clawing and ripping at the shadow man, they were relentless in their assault. He screamed out, called for his Fearlings, for anyone to save him from certain death.

Everything must die, save the truly ancient spirits. Pitch was but a madman infected, corrupted, and controlled by forces that the inky demons recognized as their own. And yet he thought he was the master- oh, no. Not by a long shot. Cackling, the spirits relented in their vicious attack, ripping at his robe and those haunted golden eyes.

"I think the Nightmare Man learned his lesson for tonight." Leaning against a nearby tree, the voodoo man gazed down at the disheveled Pitch, amusement clear in his violet eyes. "Think he know what powers he's dealing with." The spirits concurred, sinking within the ground, an echoed laugh the only remnant of their visitation.

Pitch, the Nightmare King, the Master of Fear, was terrified.

Quivering, he sat up, shaky fingers taking the tattered clothing in his hands. His eyes were shut, for they were clawed and pained and he had no interest in discovering that they might have blinded him. No, he wanted to sink within the ground, hide away from New Orleans and it's demonic ways—just until he regained his strength.

"Don't go thinkin' about revenge. Nothing you can do that'll save you next time."

_You're gonna die next time, Nightmare King. _

"Hope y'all enjoyed your stay in the Crescent City." Pulling the wounded king to his feet, Facilier gave a humble bow. Not that Pitch would see. "It was the sincerest of pleasures meeting you."

Pitch only managed a half-hearted sneer and a soft, "It was quite the experience," before he retreated to the shadows, disappearing.

He'd find a way to get the voodoo man back. Of that, he was sure.


End file.
